Fifty Shades of My Life
by DuvessaH
Summary: Seeing your life from someone else's perspective can be illuminating. However, nobody hears my thoughts but me. I know who I am, what I do, what I think, and what I feel. That's why I know I'm fifty shades.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 _Beep. Beep._ The sound that starts my life every day. It's followed by music that starts slow and quiet. Ode to Joy builds as I stretch out beneath my soft sheets. I feel the delicious ache of my workout with Claude yesterday. He really did beat the shit out of me. I shouldn't have taken that time off my sessions. I flip the covers off and feel the cool air wash over me. The music begins to build to its crescendo. I take a deep breath and jump out of bed. _Let's fucking do this._

I've gotten my run in and a shower before the phone starts to ring. I'm glad Andrea has remembered what time she was allowed to start calling for non-emergencies. She has called right on the dot. It makes my day a little better knowing that she's a competent assistant. I dry my hand and answer the call. "Grey," I answer as I pull a drawer open.

"Good morning, sir. Takei and Fushun requested a meeting today for the merger. There is no open time in your schedule. I might be able to fit it in if you'd like to reschedule your interview with the college newspaper."

 _Good._ Takei and Fushun were considering to drop the sell price to what I had required and it sounds like they'll take the deal. Have to get that done and signed before doubt gets them. Doubt is such a weed in my work. "How long is the interview scheduled for?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Make it ten and schedule Takei and Fushun right after."

"Yes, sir. That was all."

I hang up. Andrea is doing well with following directions in general. She doesn't spend too much time on the phone and speaks clearly and quickly. I can't handle how much time people usually take to talk on the phone. No one really understands how much a minute costs me. Time is my greatest resource.

Well I'm going to need to know the board for these companies now. See what pruning needs done. I press a button on my phone with one hand as I shave with the other. "What can I help you with?" Siri's disembodied voice asks.

"Call Bailey."

There's only one ring before he answers, "Hey Grey."

"I need someone to do a merger profile on all board members of Takei and Fushun Technology Firm by 11am and Welch needs to do basics on them all too."

"Consider it done."

I hang up again. _Have to move faster._ There's too much to do. Always too much to focus on which, for now, I appreciate.

"Busy day today, Mr. Grey?" Jones asks as I wolf down my omelet.

I give her a wry smile. "Is there any other kind of day?" I ask as I wipe my mouth and push away from the granite island. She takes away my dishes as I stand and grab my suit jacket as I pass the corner of the island. As I'm shrugging it on, I take a second to think of something to be grateful for. Every morning I do this to maintain a good mental attitude throughout the day. Well Andrea, Bailey, and Jones are all intelligent, expeditious workers. They make my life simpler every day. I'm grateful for who they are and my ability to recognize their talent when I decided to hire each of them.

I glance at Jones as she wipes down the counter. "Thank you for all your hard work, Mrs. Jones," I say briskly as I button my jacket. She looks around at me, her bright blue eyes a little surprised by my polite outburst. I smile, amused.

"Thank you, Mr. Grey," she says smiling back. I turn and walk to the hall towards the personal elevator.

"Oh, Mr. Grey should I make food for this weekend?" she calls after me and I'm grateful she doesn't see the frustration that crosses my face.

"Yes please. Until I say otherwise, make meals for the weekends." I can see in her eyes that she's guessed a little bit of my thoughts. I nod politely and turn to keep walking.

"Yes sir," she smiles warmly and turns towards the kitchen. I cross the last few steps and push the elevator button consciously trying to reign in my annoyance.

I'm more than a little frustrated with not being able to find a suitable sub. It's too bad this type of relationship isn't more common. I might be able to enlist someone to help me search. As it is, I have to do more of the legwork and the search than I would ever do for anything else. _It's like trying to find drugs_ , I muse.

The elevator arrives and I step in quickly, pushing garage level. If I don't get to fuck and hit someone soon, I'll start spending every day with Claude getting my ass handed to me on the mats to get it out of my system. _I need to beat something._ Even after all this time, the thought that I need that still saddens a small piece of me. _What? You're fucked up. You know this._

The elevator sounds a clear _bing_ as it slows to a halt. I lift my eyes as the elevator doors slide open. "Good morning, Mr. Grey," Taylor is there waiting for me hands folded in front of him. I give him a curt nod and he turns to lead the way to the car. I clench my fists as I follow him. _Yes, I know_ I answer myself.


	2. Chapter 1

"Good morning, Mr. Grey," Andrea rose from behind her desk with a covered portfolio of today's agenda. I could just use my online calendar and notes but I like to write physical notes. It's faster than making notes on a computer and it guarantees my assistants read my notes as they transcribe at the end of the day.

"Thank you, Andrea," I say politely and I take it as I pass the desk. I open to the day's schedule overview out of habit. I've already gone over it on the way here. I noticed a typo in a name of the Toleman's Group representative. I made a mental note to bring that up with her later. I hate simple mistakes. _Just type the right letters. Is it hard?_ I could feel my jaw clenching and mentally counted. _Why am I so irritable?_ I inwardly shook myself. _Sex. Need sex_ I answered myself.

I put down the portfolio as I round the desk. There's the usual stacks of papers that need my attention organized in dark wood slots waiting for me. I pull out the urgent pile and begin the easy work of making decisions. It's like a math equation. Once you know how something works all you do is plug in the variables and solve the equation. Blah, blah, blah.

Several hours pass this way interrupted by my scheduled appointments every now and then. "Excuse me, Mr. Grey," Olivia, the new intern, was trying to place my lunch on the desk for me. Good, I'm starving. "Thank you, Olivia," I say without looking away from my computer. My eyes are burning. I shouldn't have stayed up late last night. It fucks with me too much. _God I'm dull. No sex, no late nights._ I shook my head amused by my own boring life. _Is this what getting old feels like?_ I think stupidly. I know I'm overthinking things.

I wanted to finish this piece of work before I eat. I'm trying to find ways to get the approval from the Sudanese government to allow certain shipments containing food, medical supplies, and the like into their country. I had gotten a response from the government that did not allow it yesterday. I can't wait till they arrest that damned Bashir. There's not many people willing to ship to this area right now which opens a huge market for my enterprise and I can save lives in the process. This is only one hurtle. After I'm approved I still have to ensure the safety of my crews. The pirates aren't the only problem, the fucking Sudanese navy would rather raid our ships than protect them.

My head begins to pound. I need to eat. I knew my food must be getting cold. "Grey, my man!" my head snapped up.

"Claude?" I stood, automatically buttoning my suit jacket. _Why are you bothering me?_

"Don't bother yourself; was here training Denise and just wanted to pop in," he shook my hand.

"How are you today?" I smiled warmly. _Do you think this company runs itself?_

"I'm fantastic! Feeling sore?" he smirked. _Fuck off._

"Feeling good. I always like feeling a little sore," I shut my laptop and slid it over to make room for my steak salad. A "little sore" was an understatement but this man always wanted to feel he was superior in the gym.

"Good! Sounds like we need to add some more lessons," his grin widened.

I was amused again. "Maybe if I can find some time," I allowed as I continued to wolf down my salad. A quiet beep sounded from my desk phone. I pressed it with my free hand.

"Your next appointment is here," Andrea's disembodied voice alerted me.

I motioned with my head at the phone, "See? Busy, busy," I scarfed so more of my salad. I pressed the intercom button for Olivia's desk. "Please come for my dishes," I said quickly.

"I won't keep you any longer. I'll see you tomorrow morning," Claude stood his unwavering smile in place.

"Tomorrow," I promised. Olivia came in a blur to grab the dishes and flew back out of the room. I wondered if Andrea was giving her a hard time. Claude had noticed the speed too and, by the look of his wandering eyes, a bit more.

He smirked again and waved as he turned to leave. He opened the door and I thought I was finally rid of him when he turned back, "Oh!" I had to fight the urge to groan. "Golf this week, Grey?" _Damn._

"Yes, I'll be there," I kept the annoyance out of my voice. I hated golf. Hated it. Love doing business with it though. And of course, me being me I always have to win even in golf. It's time to improve my game again so we'll be starting back up with lessons this week.

He turns and walks out. Finally I can get back to work. Well right after I do this damned interview. Kavanagh better be as efficient in person as she is through her badgering. Oh wait. I had gotten a note a few minutes ago saying an Anastasia Steele had been sent in her place. Fantastic, all that trouble and you send another reporter? I press a button that alerts Olivia that I am ready for her.

I put away the papers that were on my desk and the laptop. I hear Olivia tell Steele to come in. I check that there's nothing else there from my lunch and turn to wait for the interviewer. Several seconds pass and she's still not walking in. _Quickly._ It's one of those days where the slightest hesitation annoys me. I have much more important things to work on now.

"You don't need to knock—just go in," I hear Olivia say. I see the door push open. I get a glimpse of a brunette woman with light skin before she spontaneously trips and sprawls in the doorway. I find myself crossing the room quickly and kneeling in front of her as she gets her bearings. _There's a brunette on her hands and knees in my office_ I think, amused. I'm as formal as possible as I pull her up to her feet. She looks up at me as she straightens. She has light blue eyes that I couldn't see properly from a distance. I've always heard that cliche description of eyes that can see through you, but I had never seen it until now. _Beautiful._ I almost frown at the thought. My inner commentary is getting annoying.

I could see her reaction too. She was obviously embarrassed; her cheeks were a pale pink flush. I could tell she was surprised by the way I look too. _Yes, yes I'm attractive_. Typical reaction. "Miss Kavanagh," I extended my hand. She was already flustered but there was something that made me want to mess with her a little. "I'm Christian Grey," since you've obviously never even seen a picture of me from your reaction. "Are you all right? Would you like to sit?" She just stares, straight into my eyes. It's actually a bit unnerving. Then she seems to remember herself and looks down.

"Um. Actually—" she mumbles. She finally extends her hand to shake mine. It's so soft and I have the strange urge to hold onto it. She pulls it back as soon as politeness allows. She blinks a few more times. _Did she notice too?_ She can't know what I was thinking I tell myself stupidly. Let's get this over with. "Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Grey."

"And you are?" I lead on as she clearly can't introduce herself. I'm getting a kick out of this still, but I stay polite in my expression.

"Anastasia Steele," she says quickly. Then adds, "I'm studying English literature with Kate..um…Katherine…um…Miss Kavanagh, at WSU Vancouver."

I could go further but I decide to let her off the hook. "I see," as I try to fight a smile. "Would you like to sit?" I wave my hand towards the couch. As we walk towards it she looks around the office. I can see that she's taking in the size. Her gaze pauses on Jennifer Trouton's art. I am surprised that I do not see the normal face people make when they look at art. It's the expression of a practiced critic appraising a painting like most people pretend. Instead, she's just looking, taking it in.

I feel like explaining it to her now, "A local artist. Trouton."

She looks for a second more before saying, "They're lovely," and I think she really means it. "Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," she sounds like she's pondering out loud. Now I'm really paying attention to her. Most people comment on the style while they play the avid art critic. One of the many things that annoy me. Not only did this Miss Steele comment on the actual meaning, she also picked the one the artist herself wanted to portray in this. _Unique_ I thought, cocking my head to the side.

"I couldn't agree more, Miss Steele," I answer quietly. She seems to snap out of her reverie and starts blushing. I straighten. I've tried to stop that habit of tilting my head but I still do it on occasion. _You do it because women like it._ I shut my thoughts down again.

I sit down on one of the chairs to ensure she can't sit near me on the couch. I see her shake her head infinitesimally after she sits down on the couch. At least both of us are having problems. She quickly pulls out some folded papers from a backpack. I hadn't even noticed it yet. A backpack, seriously? Well it's been a long time since someone brought in a backpack to my office. Actually I don't think I've ever had someone bring a book bag in. Now she's pulled out a recorder and I see her hands shaking. She drops it. I raise my eyebrows. Then she drops it again. As she continues to freak out, I think of how pain can convince you to keep your body under control. _I could help you with that._ Shut up! I yell at myself. Should I just help her? I see her face and it's priceless. I bring my hand to my mouth to keep it from breaking out into a full fledged grin. That's when she looks up.

"S-sorry," she stammers. "I'm not used to this," I can hear a slight waver in her voice.

"Take all the time you need, Miss Steele," I try to keep my tone polite.

She finally has her simple task done. I almost burst out laughing at the relief on her face. She looks at me again, "Do you mind if I record your answers?"

Before I can stop myself, I answer, "After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me now?" I regret my jibe immediately. She looks lost and flushes again. "No, I don't mind," I add.

"Did Kate, I mean, Miss Kavanagh, explain what the interview was for?"

"Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony," I answer speaking to quickly.

She looks a little surprised by this. _What?_ Could she really not know the reason she was interviewing me? How could someone who seems to have such intelligent thoughts be so ignorant at the same time? I'm intrigued and annoyed simultaneously.

"Good," she says and she seems to be trying to puff herself up. She swallows and straightens with her papers firmlygrasped in her hands. "I have some questions, Mr. Grey," she says formally as she pulls some loose hair behind her ear as if it will throw off her concentration.

I put on the straightest face I can manage, "I thought you might." She looks up at my face and I she knows I'm making fun. She straightens even more, throwing her shoulders out. I like messing with this Miss Steele. She intentionally presses the button on the recorder and I'm amazed she didn't knock it over.

She looks down at the paper in her hands and starts like a high school girl reading to the class, "You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" What a dumb question. You can look at any of my other interviews and get this answer because it's the same each time.

"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well," _I could reward you well._ Focus. She'll probably ask about my belief system if she's going this basic so I continue, "My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is it's always down to good people." I remember this morning and how I was grateful for all the competent people around me. It's welcome after all the inappropriate thoughts that've been flowing through my head.

"Maybe your just lucky," she shoots back immediately. I'm taken aback. She's been so nervous and then blurts out that bold statement. Once again I'm annoyed and intrigued.

Angry now I throw back, "I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have," I smile slightly. "It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, 'The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.'" She must know that people who are in charge of anything successfully are that way because of their efforts not fucking luck.

"You sound like a control freak," she says, her face impassive. Does she just say everything that comes to mind?

"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele," I say politely, calmly. _I could control you if I wanted._ I stare directly into her eyes. She's had a hard time looking in my eyes for any length of time. I know she can't hold it for long now. As if on cue, she blushes and a look flashes quickly over her face but I can't read it. I'm happy with her reaction. "Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things," I say out loud although I really was just thinking it to myself.

"Do you feel that you have immense power?" she asks and I hear a dubious tone in her voice.

"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele," I say lazily. "That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so," as I say this, I hope that this doesn't blow out of context in the press. I can just see the rumors of shutdowns coming. Her mouth drops open and I'm secretly glad. _Worth it._

"Don't you have a board to answer to?" she asks, her brows are furrowed and she sounds disgusted.

My eyebrow quirks. Oh Miss Steele you haven't done your homework. "I own my company. I don't have to answer to a board." She looks suddenly uncomfortable at her mistake. _Good._ She shifts in her seat which turns me on. God I need a sub.

I try to focus on the plane flying outside the window. "And do you have any interests outside your work?" she asks, polite again.

I lower my gaze to her face again. "I have varied interests, Miss Steele," I say and women tied and gagged come to mind and the snap of leather. "Very varied," I start to harden as I think of Miss Steele in my Room.

"But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?" she asks, once again reminding me of a high school girl. But it's good because it breaks me out of that ridiculous daydream.

"Chill out?" I smile and come back to now. _A submissive will help me chill out, Miss Steele._ Come on, Grey, snap out of it! She distracts me further by flushing as she sees me smile.

"Well to 'chill out,' as you put it—I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits," I take a moment to adjust myself so I don't show the erection I'm fighting. "I'm a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies." _Very absorbing._

She looks down immediately to find the next question. She looks a bit nervous. Unfortunately, that makes her more attractive to me. When is this going to be over? I really need to be free of this person.

"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" this time she doesn't look up at me. _That's right. Eyes downwards._ I shove the thought away as soon as I think it.

"I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?" I shrug. I focus hard on my plans for the new carriers to distract me.

"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts," she says furrowing her eyebrows. I'm starting to wonder if she thinks tact is overrated or if she just has a faulty brain-mouth filter. _In any case, she's wrong about the heart._ Although I did say 'love.'

"Possibly. Though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart," why am I telling her this?

"Why would they say that?" she asks and she's looking into my eyes curiously.

"Because they know me well," I say. My voice sounds sad even to me.

"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?" she continues. I've already said too much on personal feelings.

"I'm a very private person, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don't often give interviews…" I shouldn't have given this one or Kavanagh should have come. Anything but having Miss Steele here fumbling and blushing on this couch.

"Why did you agree to do this one?" she still has that has curious look in her eye.

"Because I'm a benefactor of the university," I start but I felt like being honest here too, "and for all intents and purposes, I couldn't get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity," I finished. Tenacity is the difference between success and failure. It looks like I've confirmed something for Miss Steele. Kavanagh must always be tenacious.

"You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in that area?"

Finally something a little more interesting to talk about and related to the university. "We can't eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don't have enough to eat."

I think she's going to pursue the subject, but instead she comes back around to me. "That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world's poor?" she asks. She leans forward ever so slightly.

 _Don't make me out to be a hero, sweetheart._ I shrug, "It's shrewd business," I lie. Of course I feel strongly about it. Who's ever seen a starving a child and not felt strongly about it? The strong taking care of the weak is not a virtue, it's a natural instinct in most humans. It makes _me_ feel good. Why I do it in this way is none of her business. I'm not about to tell my life's story to her. Although if she knew, then she'd understand I'm actually a monster.

She takes me out of my reverie with another question, "Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?"

"I don't have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle—Carnegie's: 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' I'm very singular, driven. I like control—of myself and those around me."

"So you want to possess things?" she seems offended.

"I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do." _Including you._

"You sound like the ultimate consumer," again she sounds a little offended.

"I am," she's right in a way. I just want to control it and let others consume it really. I'm the ultimate dominator. That's why I want dominion right now. Here in this room. Fuck! Stop! Miss Steele swallows again and her breathing seems to be shallower. I tone down whatever is happening on my face. As always, she looks back down at the paper. "You were adopted. How much do you think that's shaped the way you are?"

"I have no way of knowing?" It saved my life for one thing, but I'm not talking about that either.

"How old were you when you were adopted?" she asks blankly. Again I'm annoyed. How would she know I was adopted and not know the date? Did she not finish the sentence that would have told her both things?

"That's a matter of public record, Miss Steele," I snap. _Aren't we here to talk about my business and education?_ Her eyes widen and she searches quickly for the next question.

"You've had to sacrifice family life for your work," she says with a trembling voice.

My annoyance gets the better of me and I automatically snap again, "That's not a question."

She squirms at the rebuke. "Sorry," her face gets redder if it's possible. "Have you had to sacrifice family life for your work?" she corrects.

"I have a family," I keep my voice level. No one understands this, "I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that." I say this in practically every interview to keep me from starting unfounded rumors. She nods and looks back to the paper.

"Are you gay, Mr. Grey?" she asks boldly. I wish I had a paddle right here, right now. I inhale and the image of her bent over with a red ass flashes through my head.

"No, Anastasia," I stress her first name. "I'm not," and I watch as that sinks in. Now, I'm curious why she decided to ask that question. Does she personally want to know?

"I apologize. It's um…written here," she can't meet my eyes as she pulls that lock of hair behind her ear again.

"These aren't your own questions?" I ask. That would make much more sense. I couldn't understand why she seemed so intelligent but asked questions that would have been easy to find the answer to.

For once instead of blushing, she pales. "Er…no. Kate—Miss Kavanagh—she compiled the questions." I rub my finger along my chin and mouth absentmindedly.

"Are you colleagues on the student paper?" she should be a journalist if she was sent to interview me. Her expressions once again gives her answer away. Her eyes widen and her face is scarlet again.

"No. She's my roommate," she breathes the answer. Anastasia Steele is not even with the newspaper. She could be anyone. Was she playing dumb and actually obsessed? Kavanagh didn't even send another real reporter to, what was probably, the most important interview of her career?

"Did you volunteer to do this interview?" I watch for any sign of deception.

"I was drafted. She's not well," her voice is weak and cracks a few times. She looks contrite and a little scared. I start to harden again. I look away from her.

"That explains a great deal." _Lock it up, Grey_.

There's a knock at the door and then the door opens. I intentionally keep my head turned away. I don't like being interrupted. "Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes," Andrea said quietly. I know she wouldn't interrupt me unless she knew it was important.

"We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting," I answer politely. I wait for a moment but hear no response. She hasn't left the room because Miss Steele is watching her. I turn to face her, telling her with my expression to get the fuck out. She was obviously astounded but as soon as I faced her she blushed and scurried away.

"Very well, Mr. Grey," she mumbles and hurriedly shuts the door. Why is it so surprising that I want to change my schedule? _Because you never pick media over actual work._ I realized I wanted to spend more time with Miss Steele and that surprised me.

"Where were we, Miss Steele?" I continued. She looked back to me coming out of her own thoughts.

"Please, don't let me keep you from anything," she shakes her head and pulls her bag closer.

"I want to know about you. I think that's only fair," I lean back in my chair. She looks scared by what I say and I can even see her swallow. It's almost comical. She could be a very good submissive if she were willing.

"There's not much to know about me," she looks down and her expression becomes more melancholy.

"What are your plans after you graduate?" I ask. I don't like her making that face.

"I haven't made any plans, Mr. Grey," she mutters. I like her using my name. "I just need to get through my final exams," she finishes. I know she must have plans. She just doesn't want to tell me.

"We run an excellent internship program here," I say before I can stop myself. _That was bold._ She thinks so as well because her eyebrows raise.

"Oh," she breathes. "I'll bear that in mind," she answers, perplexed. She glances toward the exit and continues, "Though I'm not sure I'd fit in here."

I drop my head to one side, "Why do you say that?" _We can replace your book bag with a briefcase, no problem._

"It's obvious, isn't it?" she says shrewdly and quirks one eyebrow.

"Not to me," I answer immediately. Does she actually think she couldn't make it here? She breaks eye contact with me to look in her lap. The melancholy look come back to her. Another moment passes and then she wordlessly picks up the recorder. _What?! She's packing up?_

"Would you like me to show you around?" I'm grasping at straws now and I hope she doesn't notice.

"I'm sure you're far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive," she says all business again. _Driving back? Now?_ I glance outside at the heavy rain soaking the city.

"You're driving back to Vancouver?" I ask incredulously. If she couldn't get through my door unscathed, how would she drive home in this? I look out the window again to see how the roads around us look. "Well you'd better drive carefully," I warned her. It took me another moment to realize I shouldn't be taking that tone with her. _Yet_. I don't want her to leave yet. "Did you get everything you need?" I ask in one last pitiful attempt.

"Yes, sir," she answers, focusing on her backpack. She's in quite the hurry to leave.

"Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey," she stands and hoists the backpack over a shoulder.

I smile warmly. "The pleasure's been all mine," I say quietly. I want to see her again. Hell, I want to keep her here now. I stand and hold my hand out. "Until we meet again, Miss Steele," I promise. _You will see me again._ In that moment, I know Anastasia Steele will be something to me. I've made my mind up on it.

Miss Steele is a little perplexed by my declaration but shakes my hand firmly. She nods politely, "Mr. Grey." It seems like she's dismissing me in my own office. I move quickly to open the door for her.

I can't help but get one more jab in, "Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele," and I smile pleasantly at her. Her face blushes that beautiful shade again as she crosses in front of me.

"That's very considerate, Mr. Grey," she snaps. I can't help but smile again. Then she's out of my office and I'm following her to the elevators. As Andrea and Olivia give me astonished looks, I follow close behind Miss Steele. I can smell a clear floral scent coming off her hair. I realize her coat is nowhere to be seen.

"Did you have a coat?" I ask. Obviously my staff is so surprised they've forgotten their jobs.

"A jacket," she turns to look over her shoulder for it.

I hear Olivia jump to her feet and click away quickly to retrieve it. As she brings it over, I turn and take it from her before it reaches Miss Steele. I step close to her and let her slide it on. I can't help but put my hands on her shoulders when she's got it on. The urge to hold onto her strikes again. At the contact, I hear Miss Steele inhale sharply and my cock twitches at the sound. _Fuck I want her._ I stand there with her waiting for the elevators. When they arrive she practically scrambles in. I lean against the wall and I see her eyes do a vertical sweep.

"Anastasia," I smile as the doors begin to close on her.

"Christian," she responds. The doors connect and she is whisked away. I can't fight the urge anymore. By the time I'm back in my office, my cock is rock hard. _I need to see her again._


End file.
